


The Consort and the King

by FatlockFills



Series: Kingdom of Holmesvia [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fatlock, Generic European AU, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Medieval AU, Omegalock, Omegaverse, Totally just crack, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:26:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlockFills/pseuds/FatlockFills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Sherlock must choose a true mate, and it looks as though his concubine John Watson wouldn't be acceptable. There's nothing to do but hold a tournament and a feast to find the best Omega in the land!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consort and the King

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to another small work that I can't find right now. Oops.

"Your Highness, it’s past time you selected a real mate." 

"You abdicated. You have no power over me now." King Sherlock glared up at the tall redhead who stood at the window. 

"I cannot force you, of course. But it’s time the kingdom had heirs to secure our family." 

Sherlock was silent, laying back upon the red and gold couch. “I can choose the Omega I wish to bond.” 

"From an appropriate family, yes. Of course you may." 

The king laughed. “Let there be a tournament!”

"The most expensive way, of course." The elder brother sketched a polite bow and rolled his eyes once his back was turned. 

——

There was a tournament. Knights charged, horses screamed as mistakes were made. Peasants gathered to watch the festivities, and catch the buns and loaves that King Sherlock had thrown to the crowd. 

And every Knight had brought an Omega. From every landed family in the realm they came, decked in their finest clothes, trying to appeal to the king by flirting and flouncing his direction. For once there was no concubine or harem dweller at his side; he sat alone. Nevertheless, it was clear that news of what the king liked that reached even the corners of the kingdom. 

Every Omega he was presented with showed signs of recent fattening. The slimmest had clearly been fed up for this meeting in particular; they carried their weight mainly in their overstuffed bellies; they sketched shallow bows, center of gravity thrown off by how round they’d become in such a short time. Others had been in varying states of fatness—clothes strained around them, emphasising wide hips (“Perfect for birthing your heirs,” their fathers assured the king as one.) It was a sea of double chins, round rumps, and round guts strained to capacity as their fathers, elder brothers, or guardians urged them to eat enough to put on a show for the king himself. 

King Sherlock allowed the festivities to go on for a fortnight. There was ample food and ample wine; by the end of the great tournament even the slimmest of the Omegas was struggling not to split his trousers, and those knights who had supped too freely after being eliminated from the competition early were having similar difficulties—but receiving far more insults. There were several short but violent bursts over just who wasn’t going to fit into their armor. 

King Sherlock watched it all with a smile, and though he was polite to all Omegas he took care not to favor any one over the others; if he ate a meal with one, he ate dessert with another, and never the same one twice. 

At length, the champion of the tournament was crowned. The King bid him rise, and the eager man faced the ruler of the land. “So. You have the winner’s purse, and the charger, and the armor. Which Omega was the one you brought, Sir Knight?” 

The Omega was brought forward, brown eyes wide, a stripe of pale flesh visible where his tunic failed to meet the breeches he’d struggled into. He was not ugly; fine features, and a stocky, heavy frame suited him well. His flesh bulged out between the laces on his breeches in a way that definitely hadn’t happened when he’d first taken supper with the king more than ten days ago. 

"Lovely," the king complimented. "He is certainly worthy to be my consort… if there were no competition." 

He rose, and gave the Omega a smile that, while not precisely unkind, had no regard for the way the young man had paled, or the way the knight’s brow had furrowed. “A fortnight of fattening suits you, but it’s not really the best we can do, is it?” He clapped, and the curtains parted. 

The Omega who stood there was fatter than the one whose champion had won the tournament; a great deal fatter. His hips all but filled the opening where he stood; his chins wobbled with every breath he took. His gut sagged clearly through the fabric, and yet his stomach still managed to look huge; both flabby and perky. He waited until the king waved him up, and then waddled towards the dais and his king. 

"John Watson," King Sherlock said, and the smile bloomed with warmth. "A concubine of mine, and clearly the most accomplished Omega in the land. A gift to me, from a family who knew he would never suit a farmer or a peasant for a mate." 

John was panting lightly when he climbed the short stairs, and turned to the crowd, whose faces were clouded with looks between anger and confusion. 

"Also the finest Omega in the land. The most beautiful, the most clever, and the most fertile." The King reached over, and when he settled his hand more gently over the Omega’s stomach there was a sudden gale of whispers in the room. 

The King looked about the room. “I think a fortnight and ten dof celebration is about right for a bonding feast. A tournament for entertainment has already been declared. All the eligible Omegas in the land gathered together, made more attractive; I have no doubt, my lords all, that if you continue to put them on display you’ll have bonding proposals for them all before this final feast is out.” 

The king didn’t look away from the Omega at his side. “And the royal gifts. The tournament’s rewards have been given. Gerald Watson, step forward.” 

A thin man in a thin coat stepped forward, eyes round and cheeks red to be seen in such company. “Yes?”

"I, in my rights as king, hereby declare you as Baron of the Red Wood and all the lands between the Eastern most reaches of that forest to the sea, North to the mountain foothills, and south to the lands of the Baron of Yarshire. Which makes John Watson, your son, fit to be my mate."

His hand slid into the Omega’s hair, and he pulled back sharply, biting him. There was silence in the room, and then a smattering of applause as he pulled back, and rubbed John’s belly tenderly. The Omega was as dazed as anyone newly bonded, and he leaned into the king heavily. 

"Fetch a chair!" the king snapped to a page, steadying his mate. "The King’s Consort needs to rest, dolt."

The festivities rolled on, and wine was poured, and meals were eaten, and sure enough the lords, though still upset that their king had chosen someone else to be his consort, found that their Omegas attracted enough attention to molify them somewhat with ample lesser matches to choose from. 

The Champion’s Omega, the one who had come the closest to being the King’s, got no less than four bonding proposals when he leaned over the table to grab the dish of butter and the laces on his breeches finally gave out, plopping his pale, soft gut on the table for everyone to see.


End file.
